


Hold On

by lilredsoupbowl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:21:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilredsoupbowl/pseuds/lilredsoupbowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, go ahead and call the cops -<br/>you don't meet nice girls in coffee shops."</p><p>- Inspired greatly by these lines from 'Hold On' by Tom Waits. </p><p>A Swanfire coffee shop AU series featuring the Portland barista, Neal Cassidy, enabling the coffee addicted - and slight coffee snob - that is Officer Swan. The chapters, and time, will be working as nonlinear for this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops"

Neal Cassidy knew he’d been bamboozled as he flipped the lights on in the small coffee shop; moving to prepare the first batch of coffee for the day. It was 5 o’clock in the morning. And he was alone. The streets were caked with snow outside. A lone traffic light swinging maniacally in the raging flurries. All on an empty city street that was usually packed with traffic and buzz. His co-worker had called in sick; pleading with Neal to take charge. 

Why not, he’d answered – it had seemed more do-able when he was still wrapped up in his quilt; muttering under his pillow into the cellphone. Now he stood unshaved; dressed in his well-worn plaid shirt – eyeing the register with dread. Neal abandoned his apron on a far counter as he reached for a mug on the top shelf. 

He at least had earned the first drink of the day; grinding a rich espresso as he started to pull shots on the machine. In one gulp he downed it, exclaiming in his best James Brown impression, 

“Sock-it to me!” 

The trickling of bells caught him off guard as the Fury rushed into the scene; blonde curls peeking out from what – in Neal’s humble opinion – was an amazing hat! A navy knit with long flaps covering her ears. Neal wondered if it was handmade; staring shamelessly as the first customer of the day grew irritated. 

She looked familiar – possibly a repeat customer but Neal didn’t recall seeing her so early ever before. 

“Aren’t you guys open,” a clipped voice interrupted his thoughts. 

The customer met his stare in challenge. She held his gaze, certainly never one for backing down, as Neal’s mouth dropped open in bewilderment – reaching the verdict that his first customer was very pretty. Beautiful even, he decided. Tacking on a beautiful: but deadly when she raised an eyebrow – the beating of her boot echoing from behind the counter as she grew more and more impatient and ready to strike. 

Neal managed a nod; trying to regain composure as he searched for his misplaced apron. 

“Absolutely,” assured Neal waving a hand awkwardly through the air; passing the blonde at the register to retrieve his apron. After forcing the apron over his head, Neal fumbled with the ties – bashfully smiling back when the customer huffed at him. She crossed her arms over chest; tapping her fingers erratically now along with her boots. 

She was a coffee addict, Neal recognized fondly. After almost a year of working mornings here, he’d learned to spot them a mile away!

“Good morning,” Neal finally greeted with his apron loosely knotted; gliding towards the register. “How are you doing? – Nice to see you braved the storm to come see us!” 

“Not like I had any choice,” she retorted. 

Apparently, Neal mused, he’d not used the correct greeting for someone who desperately needed a caffeine fix – but he couldn’t seem to help himself! There was something about the blaze of her glare – the way the lovely face beneath such an amazing hat scrunched in displeasure from his mere cheerfulness! 

“And why is that,” Neal inquired with concern. “The radio talked about offices closing for the morning – schools too. Seems everyone is closed but me –“ 

She flashed a badge – with such authority that left Neal gaping at the beauty; wondering if she really wanted to flash her firearm instead. A cop and a coffee-addict: what a combination! 

“The city of Portland doesn’t close-down over inclement weather,” she observed prickly. “Coffee. Black.”

Caught off guard by her directness, Neal stumbled for an answer. The creature opposite him was no mere ‘black coffee’ girl. How had she not realized that yet? 

“You sure about that,” the barista questioned as he raised an eyebrow.

“Pour that,” the officer gestured to the large burner across the counter, “ - into the biggest cup; lid it and I’m good.”

Whistling far too merrily, Neal moved to do just that; flipping a large cup into the air and catching it with ease in front of the brew station – showing off, just a little bit! He turned his head slightly to see if the blonde noticed – her eyes quickly flickered away; feigning disinterest quite well. A spot – Neal assumed a coffee stain – on her mittens suddenly seemed to fascinate the blonde. 

The house blend was now fresh and waiting - but something held Neal back. Slowly, he turned; face to face with his first customer of the day.

“Look- being the expert here,” he paused as the young woman snorted a laugh. “I feel it’s my responsibility to inform you that’s not your drink-”

“I know what I like,” she shot back; absentmindedly playing with her cellphone as she waited.

“Sure you do,” Neal replied. “But what if - and this is a big ‘IF’- there’s something out there you’d like better; dare I suggest - something you might love out there waiting to be found. And, upon locating your real drink, you could just waltz in here any old time and call out, ‘My usual, Neal!’ -”

“Who’s Neal,” asked the blonde; looking less annoyed but equal portions tired and confused.

“I am,” he pointed to the name tag dangling from his apron.

“Right,” the woman muttered; leaning against the counter as she returned her attention to the illuminated screen in hand.

“What you need is a black-eye,” Neal announced with pride; smirking at the customer now - only to receive harsher glare in return. She was seething now – all interest in her phone disappeared as she clutched it to her palm; forming a fist. All too ready for a fight! 

“Look, buddy - I don’t know what the hell your problem is but that is completely out of line-”

Neal held out both hands when he realized the error, “No - it’s a drink, I swear! Just a drink! Barista jargon for two shots of espresso in fresh brewed coffee… that’s a black-eye-”

The tension released when she cocked her head to the side, “You can put shots of espresso in coffee?”

Smiling wide, Neal informed her, “We can put shots of espresso into anything! I’m a dirty chai man, myself.”

She was smiling, weakly, back at him. Leaning forward, the customer watched as he took her cup over to the espresso machine.

“You realize that sounds horrible as well, right?”

“Part of the fun - and I make sure to order mine ‘real’ dirty,” Neal answered with a wink.

She laughed at that; leaning closer as he worked. 

“So what does a dirty chai entail,” she asked. 

“Pretty similar to your ‘black-eye’ in theory,” Neal pondered. “A chai tea latte- you’ve tried one of those before?”

The customer shook her head, claiming, “Never been one for foo-fooy drinks. If you want a coffee – order a coffee. If you want watered-down, caffeinated-sugar with whipped cream on top –“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Neal stopped her. “This isn’t Starbucks, thank you very much! This is a – honest to God – Portland coffee shop. I make handcrafted artisan drinks – and very rarely do I have to top anything with a pound of whipped cream and sprinkles!” 

“Do you ever,” she asked; wrinkling her nose in obvious disgust. 

“When a group of high schoolers walk in here with that 'deer in the headlights' look: yes. I’m a nice guy who feels it’s my obligation to acclimate all in a new setting and be friendly about it. I have drawn the line with foam-art unicorns and shit – I’ve got to have some standards with my foam-art.” 

The blonde released a laugh from deep in her stomach, “A barista with the heart of gold,” she smirked. 

“Now a chai tea, since you asked, is steamed milk – steamed right, mind you - poured over a deliciously spicy tea bag; lots of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cardamom –“

Her eyes widened when he mentioned cinnamon, something Neal promised himself to file away for a later day. This drink would earn her trust – the next drink he’d suggest would broaden her scope even more - 

“- now for a dirty chai: we add a shot of espresso.”

As the shots pulled for her black-eye, Neal noticed the blonde eyeing him up and down; curiosity etched into that beautiful face. 

“Just one,” she exclaimed. “Seems a bit light to me!”

She really was a girl after his own heart!

“Which is why you’ve got to answer ‘real dirty’ when the barista asks you how you’d like it. Usually get myself two shots– though I’ve doubled that on occasion!” 

Neal finished her drink off with the fresh brew; lidding it before sliding the black-eye into long awaiting hands. 

“Here,” Neal urged; touching her hands a second longer than necessary. “Take a sip! See if that works better for ya!” 

And she did! Tilted her face upward – Neal watching her long neck as she swallowed. She even took one more sip before nodding vaguely; her nose twitching as she sniffed the concoction. 

“So is that your ‘usual’ now,” Neal had to know. 

She shrugged, “It’s okay.” 

“Okay -,” Neal began to question – but she cut him off. 

“It’s better than black coffee,” she admitted with a smirk. Glancing over the rim at him as she took another sip. “I’m not sure we’re at ‘love’ yet, though -“ 

“Just put your faith in me and we’ll figure this out,” promised Neal. 

“How much do I owe you,” the officer asked; once again retrieving the authority in her voice from earlier. Neal wondered what else she could have been- if not a cop. Young, beautiful, and blonde – and a more commanding presence Neal doubted anyone could ever meet! The amazing hat and mittens so homey and precious – but definitely suited her well! She was a balanced display of extremes and seeming contradictions – Neal found himself engrossed in finding out her true drink. And he would someday, he was sure!

“On the house,” Neal announced. Shaking his head as she fumbled in her pockets for a wallet. 

“Come on,” she implored; struggling to take off a mitten with her teeth while trying not to spill a drop of her drink in the other hand. 

“I insist,” Neal told her. “First drink of the day is always on the house. Very important barista folklore about it – guarantees prosperity and joy for the shop and all!“ 

It was a lie – but his overall eccentric nature during their exchange seemed to have sold her on it; the officer stopped chewing on her mitten and focused back on him. 

“I never realized baristas’ were so superstitious before,” she observed; honoring Neal with a truly dazzling smile that shot warmth from his gut to his very toes. The effects of the earlier espresso were nothing to this, he decided. Neal felt more awake than he had for days prior - a surge of delight that he would feel the gravity of for the rest of the day. 

“Barista culture is a very complicated system of lexicon and superstitions,” Neal assured the blonde officer as she headed for the door – she paused and turned around to call over the still empty cafe, 

“Thank you, Neal.” 

Neal tried to shrug with nonchalance, “See you tomorrow, officer.” 

It would bother him for the rest of the morning that he’d never asked for her name.


	2. "Well, God bless your crooked little heart"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actual first meeting - that both Neal and Emma will always deny! Always! Set more than a year before Emma and Neal will later claim they 'met' (the first chapter).

A late summer haze lingered over the sidewalks as Emma walked down the block with her mom. They’d pulled into Portland 48 hours ago with the family car packed with boxes- and one large trash bag that held the last minute ‘linens’ her mom had bought for Emma’s first apartment. 

Both mother and daughter kept glancing at each other as they walked; unknowingly mimicking the other as they both tried to reconcile with the immediate truth: they only had a couple more hours together. Emma started Police Academy tomorrow. And her mom had to leave – the back-to-school commercials that blared across Emma’s small TV last night; a terrible reminder that some kids back home would need their fourth grade teacher soon!

Where Emma had always known her goodbye to her dad would be as painful as it had proven – it was a different matter knowing her mom was traveling up to Portland to help her move; knowing hours of road trip awaited them. Honestly, Emma had not even considered parting from her mom yet – and now felt like the eight year old being dropped off at summer camp all over again. 

She needed her mom – needed to have a balanced force in her life. 

Showcased all the more as they setup her apartment. Emma had remembered the practical elements: her microwave, toothbrush, and a pot, etc. But – after unpacking the box she’d brought – Emma had to admit the apartment looked gloomy and unfamiliar. Her mom sent her off to get the rest from the car; shaking her head as she regarded the space. Emma returned to find her mom unpacking the first of the mystery boxes – framed photographs of her parents and friends already hang in the entryway. A cozy quilt spread over the small cot in the corner – added a much needed burst of color in the gray space. 

Her mom had made a home – out of a space Emma knew she’d only have made inhabitable at best. 

“Now is there anything else you need,” her mom questioned as they neared the corner; her mom’s instincts still had her arm reaching in front of Emma at the crosswalk – just in case Emma tried step out into the line of traffic. Mom would never be a city-girl, Emma knew. Around them pedestrians emerged from the curb to hustle across; zigzagging to avoid cars. But Emma waited obediently next to her mom. The future cop had all the time in the world to jay-walk now. 

“I packed everything from the dorm,” rationalized Emma out loud. 

Her mom nodded, “I know – but it’s going to be a much different experience now. You won’t be able to just run over to the dining hall anymore, Emma –“

“Mom – look,” Emma waved her hand to the left and right. “There’s places to eat all around. Ah – even a Thai place over there!”  
“I really hope you don’t plan to ate out all the time: it’s not healthy or smart on a budget,” reported the fourth grade teacher with a sigh. “You do know how to cook, right?”

“… sure,” Emma replied evasively. “Dad showed me tons. I’m really going to be fine-“

“Your dad is the one to teach cooking,” mom agreed with a smile. 

“And now we’ve reached the most important location,” Emma joked; trying to make the last few hours as light-hearted as possible. “Presenting La – Coffee SHOPPEe!” 

The coffee shop was located on the opposite corner – the front and an entire wall dedicated to a streamline window that overlooked the traffic they’d only just passed through. The bike rack out front full – a gray door opened as a line funneled in and out of the shop. 

“Looks very busy,” Emma’s mom warned. 

“Isn’t that a good sign, then,” Emma observed. “And it’s moving – we’ll be in and out in no time.” 

To start, it seemed Emma was correct. The line was in constant motion – the entire shop was. Every table and chair was occupied – when a seat finally fell vacant, a group of skaters quickly passed it over Emma’s head to join a far table of friends. 

Her mom ducked startled as Emma laughed, “Isn’t this place perfect?”

When she’d first dreamed of living in a city after college: this is the scene Emma realized she’d dreamed of. A chaotic symphony of freaks, students, business men and women, and – her- colliding in places like this. Muffled jazz music drifted across the space. Emma smirked when she saw tattooed punks jumping to their feet to allow a group of elderly women to have their table. This was the Portland she’d dreamed of – this strange yet inviting community. 

The only uninviting element was the barista – a gruff bastard, Emma decided as she sipped her coffee and glared at his dark head. 

A black coffee had reached her hands instantly from the perky blonde at the register – with iridescent green streaks in her hair. But of course her mom wanted something special: a half-caf. iced, peppermint white chocolate mocha with extra whip and dark chocolate drizzle on top. 

Emma had watched like a hawk for it as her mom explored the local bulletin board – leaving Emma to eye the drinks as the dark-haired barista slid them across the counter with disinterest; a pronounced frown across his face. A bored baritone announcing the names. It wasn’t until the people behind her began getting drinks that Emma approached him at the counter. 

“I think you lost my drink,” Emma addressed to the barista evenly. 

He didn’t look up – continued his task of making drinks at the espresso machine and shoving them off into the crowd. 

“I didn’t lose anything,” he clipped back briskly. “You sure Tink heard your order –“ 

“Since I watched her write the cup: yeah, I’m sure she did. Even saw her place said cup down and –“ 

“What’s your drink,” he interrupted annoyed. Slamming the next finished drink onto the counter and bellowing, “ROY! ROY, YOUR AMERICANO IS UP!” 

A short, bearded man stepped up and grabbed his drink, “Kid, you’ve got to calm down –“ 

“I am calm,” the barista challenged with a disheartened laugh. “Calm and easy as they come –“ 

“Kid: if I’m finding you rude there’s something wrong,” Roy shot back; backing off into the crowd and out the door in a huff.

“Melody,” the barista called next; barely missing a beat. “Melody, your super-sugary, mountain of raspberry pinkness and dead dreams awaits you next!”

Emma watched a dark-haired tween skip over with a pout; holding up her phone to the barista. 

“It’s meant to be a ‘cotton-candy’ Frappuccino,” Melody complained. “On Pinterest it looks like this –“ 

“Well – thanks to an evil corporation that we dare not speak: let’s call them Buck’s Star – we cannot call anything that. We can say Frap, I guess. But the ‘ccino’ part actually doesn’t apply here. You’ve essentially just ordered brightly colored sugar missed with ice and milk –“ 

He continued making drinks; barely looking at the girl’s screen as he placed another drink on the counter. 

“ – So it’s a raspberry milkshake,” Melody declared proudly. 

The barista nodded, “Sure: it’s a raspberry milkshake! Congratulations!” 

She giggled nervously for a moment before turning on her heel; announcing, “You’re kind of mean today!” 

The barista seemed completely unfazed; clearly forgetting Emma’s missing drink as he pulled shots for the next. 

“I ordered a drink – like – seven drinks before her’s,” Emma complained; motioning to Melody who was now sipping her ‘milkshake’ as she eyed the barista with a dreamy smile – dear God, was this bastard really worthy of being crushable for thirteen year old girls? 

“What’d you order,” a barely audible monotone asked; he presented the next drink and called across the shop, “BATMAN!” 

“A half. caf – iced, peppermint- white mocha with extra whipped cream and dark chocolate drizzle on top!” 

He finally looked up; pausing in his work to regard her with contempt. Dark eyes flickering as he smirked for a moment – but Emma stood her ground. Yes – the drink might have been embarrassing to order even the first time. But just let this jackass try to mock her! Let him think that’s her drink – her mom deserved having her favorite drink and this wait was past ridiculous! 

“Seriously,” the barista mumbled through his lips – Emma unsure if he was about to laugh or fall asleep. 

“Yeah: seriously,” confirmed Emma with her much practiced ‘cop voice’. Her dad would be so proud – 

“ – Okay -,” he seethed with sarcasm. Emma glared into his skull as he finished her mom’s drink; adding a flourish to the top with the whipped cream that Emma might have found pretty if she wasn’t about to scream. 

“Have a wonderful day,” scoffed the barista; leaving Emma to feel completely dismissed as she grabbed the iced drink. 

“Jerk,” she sneered; pleased when she noticed his eye brow lift and his eyes quickly rise from the machine to lock on hers – darting back swiftly as he prepared the next. Good, she thought with glee. He deserved to hear another remark on his horrid customer service. 

She’d done a spot of waitressing as a teen. At a family friend’s diner – but it counted! And, with all of her anti-social tendencies, had at least managed to give a shit most of the time. 

Unfortunately, her mom had returned in time to witness the last of the exchanged between Emma and the barista. Emma passed the drink to her mom as they moved for the door. 

“This tastes marvelous,” her mom declared excitedly. “Almost better than Ruby’s – but never tell her I told you that!” 

“But what an asshole,” Emma countered; finding it difficult to enjoy her coffee now. 

The other barista – the girl from the register – was taking a smoking break outside. Seeming to overhear the exchanged, the girl named Tink apologized, “I’m so sorry – he’s been like that for the past week. Usually docile as a kitten- “

“I find that hard to believe,” Emma retorted. 

“His girl – ex now – ran off to San Francisco and took most of his vinyl. Not sure which he’s more upset over,” admitted Tink with a shrug. 

Emma kept walking. “Can see why she left,” she directed to her mom; still feeling an electricity rushing through her body – calling for an all out confrontation with the barista. Part of her loved conflicts – as much as she hid it from the world. No one needed to know that the person patrolling around town with a gun might delight in little skirmishes now and again. But her dad, Sheriff of their small town, was much the same way – 

“Well I know where we’re going,” her mom announced as she pulled Emma down the block; knowing her daughter needed a distance with the coffee shop fast. 

Emma locked around at the signs and buildings confused; certain they’d not walked in this direction yet, “Where are we going?” 

“I’m buying you a coffee maker,” her mom sternly replied. Booking no refusal. So Emma’s little kitchenette ended up with an adorable coffee maker – that would never get much use. For the first few weeks of Police Academy she made her own coffee in the morning – never quite achieving a good cup of coffee in her opinion. Though both her parents had good success with the machine when they’d visit.

But Emma was drawn like a moth to the flames! She’d tried almost every other coffee shop within radius – but none could compare to the little shop a block away from her apartment; with it’s gray door. The ambiance and people. The smooth jazz. The comfy chairs by the window made a perfect place to start a weekend, Emma found. Tink was always friendly and helpful – recommending amazing bars and hangouts as Emma learned the layout of Portland. 

Even the asshole, smug-bastard became more bearable – though Emma suspected Tink made a special point in keeping both of them separated. 

Months later, he’d begun to smile – supposedly again, though Emma had no real evidence to support this; only Tink’s word. 

One Saturday morning, as she was sipping her black coffee and sitting in the small café, Emma found herself watching him work – waiting for Tink to get off so they could go to some street fair together. She told herself it was the training – just her training that made her prone to observing all people now. She watched as he joked with a customer at the register. As he helped an older woman carry a large order of drinks to a waiting cab. He mopped up a spill near her seat – not once glancing in her direction! 

A special treat came in the end: when Tink asked him to lug pounds of coffee beans to the topmost shelf of the store. 

Emma almost sighed as he lifted bag after burlap bag over his shoulder – releasing a breath, which she tried to disguise as a cough, when the dark-haired barista bent forward on the ladder to arranged the bags of coffee in a neat row. His worn jeans stretching over a rounded backside – leaving Emma to decided that 'the Ass' had a mighty fine ass!


	3. "But it's so hard to dance that way... your old hometown is so far away"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But it's so hard to dance that way  
> When it's cold and there's no music  
> Well your old hometown is so far away" 
> 
> Set a year after the first chapter.

Emma was excited. A week before Christmas – which had always been her family’s favorite holiday – and things were finally shaping up. She was working her first big case uncovering a major narcotics ring. And, for the first time in weeks, had a solid lead. A nightlong stakeout on the horizon, Emma had to remind herself to stop mentally packing her bags and heading home to surprise her parents. The case wasn’t solved yet! And she might still end up spending Christmas morning at her desk; shuffling through paperwork on long-cold cases.

The anxiety didn’t lift when she glanced at her partner as he drove them through the snow filled streets. As she was jiggling her foot to find some relief for her compacted energy, Graham was all calm and collected. Assured of his abilities and aware of his surroundings. She could almost hate him for it – if his smile wasn’t always so genuine. Only a few years her senior, Emma was jealous of the composure Graham processed on the job; wondering if she’d ever be that kind of cop.

“Is this your little coffee shop,” asked Graham as he pulled off to the curb.

Her block looked like Christmastime; streetlamps decorated with garland and red ribbons – and the coffee shop was no exception. Emma’s eyes drifted to the coffee shop’s windows; her heartbeat racing as she took in Neal’s handy-work.

Neal’s mural featured a Santa Claus that looked like Jerry Garcia; donning thick sunglasses as he flashed a peace sign to all passing by. And that seemed to have been Neal’s theme for the year: ‘ _Peace_ ’. A star hovered above the scene; dissected into geometric shards of purple, blue, green, and red.

His art pedigree was showing in the faux stain glass star – in the blue dradles zooming outward like they were spinning towards the street.

Having no background in art, Emma couldn’t describe what she liked about the window. But she did! Even though she was confused over why Jerry Garcia-Santa was clutching a golden bowl of what looked like dried, shrunken, fingers. She honestly did like it! 

“What’ya want,” Emma addressed to her partner as she unbuckled her seatbelt. 

Graham laughed, “Something to keep me up.” 

Emma smirked as she exited the police cruiser, “I think they can managed that!”

Emma knew Tink was closing – but did not factor Neal working so late that night. With his apron folded to the side, he was hunched over a portable chalkboard at one of the tables; drawing something with his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. When the bells dinged and Neal looked up and saw her, he threw his hands in the air; stuttering, “Honest – didn’t do it, officer!”

Dressed in her normal street-clothes, Emma hadn’t thought anything of being on duty still, and packing. She’d never worn her gun into the shop before. Her black belt and pouch visible for once as her Glock swayed with her hips when she walked closer.

“What are you doing now,” she glanced down at the chalkboard.

Neal folded his arms; leaning back in his chair with pride as he allowed Emma to observe his latest masterpiece.

“New drink,” he explained. “ _Chestnuts roasting on an open fire_!”

“That’s a very long name for a drink,” Emma noted as she read the basic recipe and description Neal included on the board. But knew very few would look past the artwork. A large bonfire and it’s erratic flames flowed to every spare inch of board space – with round chestnuts popping open as they sizzled from the heat.

There was something sinister about the chestnuts and fire Neal had created – and erotic. It all made Emma all the more uneasy in the barista’s presence. She couldn’t shake the relief she felt when Tink popped out from the back; beckoning Emma over to the register. 

“Gathering more data for your spank bank,” Tink joked. 

“Shhh!”

“Come on, it’s not a big deal. I’m sure Neal’s had ‘ _special_ ’ dreams about you, too.”

Emma cleared her throat, “I admitted to that under duress – and dreams don’t mean anything. It’s just our brains processing information from throughout day –“

Tink broke in, “So that particular day included Neal, bare-ass naked – except for his apron – fucking you on our industrial bags of coffee beans? God, that’s just not hygienic! Like, no one who’s ever worked in a coffeehouse would even consider that filthy kink –"  

“And the burlap bags would have been scratchy. I get it,” Emma groaned. “Believe me: I am just as disturbed by the setup as you are.“

“At least Neal I can trust to wash his apron after fulfilling your deepest, darkest fantasies. Some of these new guys - ,” Tink shuddered.

“Just get me a coffee –“ Emma started. 

“She wants a ‘ _Reindeer Games_ ’,” Neal shouted across the semi-empty shop. “She might not admit it, but she does!”

“I’m ordering for someone else as well,” Emma yelled back to him. Lowering her voice back to a normal volume, she admitted to Tink, “I would like to order a ‘ _Reindeer Games_ ’ for myself –“

“Told ya,” Neal cheered at her. “I knew you’d like it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma groaned. “You were right. I was wrong –"  

“Can you say that again,” Neal begged. “I doubt people get to hear that often from you- “

Tink interrupted them both, “Neal, if you’d like to be part of this conversation can you just come over here already.”

Neal left his table and came bounding up to them; grinning like a child on Christmas morning. Emma rolled her eyes at the display; admitting once again when prompted that Neal was ‘right’ yet again about which drink she’d like.

“I knew you’d like cinnamon,” Neal lofted in a quieter tone; standing close enough to Emma that their shoulders touched. 

“I love cinnamon – and Christmas. So putting Christmas in a cup of caffeination is an easy winner for me.”

Tink cleared her throat as she wrote on a cup, “So one ‘ _Reindeer Games_ ’ and a cup of coffee –“

“Coffee,” Neal scoffed. “Your mom might like the old ‘ _Christmas Cheer_ ’ – White mocha and cinnamon-y.” 

Emma nodded, “I’m sure mom would – but it’s not for my mom. She couldn’t come up to Portland this year.”

He raised his eyebrow at that. “I’m sorry,” he gently said. “I’m sure that’s hard – not being with your parents for the holidays.” 

Emma muttered her very practiced speech, “It’s part of being an adult. Realizing you can’t always be home for Christmas. Whatever the songs tell us, it’s not always plausible –“ she saw the pity in Neal’s eyes and hated it; having already been on the receiving end enough times when her fellow officers realized she was going to be alone on Christmas.

No boyfriend. No family. Not even a pet for company. She seemed to have been branded, ‘Holiday Charity Case’ somewhere along the way!

But with Neal she could at least admit, “It’s going to be hard, yeah.“

“Look – my dad always cooks way too much food,” Neal said. “If you’d like to stop by for dinner,” Neal noted her annoyed frowned and continued, “Not out of pity! You’d be doing me a favor: papa sends all the leftovers home with me and it takes till mid-February for me to finish it off! Come on: you’ve probably never witnessed the true dysfunction of two – long divorced individuals – gathering with their much younger new S.O.s, to impart on their only child that they can be normal and not awkward at all. Which, naturally, leads to tons of awkwardness and everyone a little bit drunk.”

“Your parents are divorced?”

“Have been – probably…. for the majority of my life now. Which was kind of a sweet setup as a kid: two Christmases! And one interesting Chanukah/Christmas when my mom was on on boyfriend #14.  Learned a lot that year! But then I grew up, my papa remarried – to my former Art History professor, actually – and my mom’s been living with this male-model for the past few years, so they decided it was time to make amends for all the years they couldn’t bare to be in the same state as the other.”

“Very intriguing,” Emma agreed. “And thanks for the offer but I think I’ll pull some extra hours down at the station. Let the officers with kids take Christmas off.”

“Very noble – wait here! I’ve got something for ya,” Neal disappeared into the back.

Tink had stepped over to the espresso machine; making drinks.

“I knew it: Neal’s in love with you. And you want his babies. And, based on your dream, they’ll be made in that backroom on burlap coffee bags. Then you’ll marry – Neal taking your last name since he’s liberated and shit. Being the ‘hipsters’ the two of you are, you’ll name your offspring things like Hazelnut, Coffee-bean, Café Bombon, Affogato – everything that showcase the great love that blossomed in this coffee shop –“

“You’re going insane,” Emma complained. “Absolutely insane! The Holiday Season’s taken a toll on you – there is nothing going on between Neal and me. Just the friendly relationship I try to maintain with the people making my coffee. Because I love coffee!”

“Sure,” TInk winked at her; unconvinced. “I’m calling it now: this ‘ _thing_ ’ is going to erupt in the new year. You two are going to go at it – hard. And I’m going to start leaving condoms in my locker. Feel free to help yourself. Use them! So, when things do ‘erupt’, it’ll be a bit more hygienic. I might even remind Neal that any type of stains on his apron will be noted so he better kept it spotless or I’ll –"  

“You just made this gross! Maybe I’m too friendly with _all_ the barista here-” 

“Oh shut up: you love us!  Well, a different kind of love. I’m pretty confidant you don’t want to jump my bones but maybe you are just a big fan of _coffee_ –“

“What are we talking about,” Neal asked when he stepped out of the back.

“I love coffee,” Emma declared loudly. “Just – I really love coffee!”

Neal cocked his head to the side, “… I realized.”

“Emma just really, really loves coffee,” Tink teased; leaving an air of suggestion that made Emma flush. “ – has this insatiable need for ‘coffee’ all the time. Everywhere.”

“That would be an addiction,” Neal noted; handing a small burlap sack to Emma.

The coloration on her cheeks refused to go away when she questioned if Tink might have told Neal about her dream – and the involvement of larger burlap sacks in said dream.  

“ – which kind of makes me hesitate to give you this,” Neal continued. “But… Merry Christmas!”

“Oh -,” Emma stammered. “Thank you… what is it?”

“Chocolate-covered espresso beans. And, believe me, you’ll want to pace yourself with these. Too many will make even the most experienced coffee-addict sick!”

“I think I can handle it,” laughed Emma; making a connection back to Neal’s window mural. “So Jerry Garcia –Santa is holding a bowl of chocolate-covered espresso beans – “ she gestured back to the window. “And not shriveled fingers!”

Neal laughed with her but shook his head, “Jerry Garcia-Santa is holding out a bowl of dates; for Ramadan.”

Emma bit her lip; shaking her head at her own ignorance, “I clearly need to be eating more fruit and veggies in my diet.”

“Or it’s my talents as a painter. Really: shriveled fingers?”

Emma shrugged, “I’m a cop. I tend to be a little twisted in how I perceive things!”

Tink placed two cups down on the counter. “Don’t worry,” she addressed to Neal. “Emma’s leaving with one ‘ _Reindeer Games_ ’ and one ‘ _Christmas Cheer_.’ “ 

Neal opened his mouth to say something but Tink added on, “And an extra shot in both! I know this customer well, too! Oh – can you do me a favor, Neal? I pulled something in Yoga the other night; can barely lift my arms over my head. Could you restock the beans up-top for me?”

Neal heaved large burlap sacks over his shoulders and started up the ladder as Emma paid; completely distracted as she savored the scene behind the counter.

Tink leaned forward and whispered, “And there’s my Christmas present for you: Merry Christmas!”

Opening Neal’s gift, Emma plopped the first chocolate-covered espresso bean into her mouth; feeling a pleasant crunch from the chocolate and bean as she chewed; watching Neal move along the shelves. 

“Merry Christmas,” she agreed; smiling and feeling good will for all when Neal’s round backside flexed to reach the highest shelf.


End file.
